


A New Leaf, A New Page, And The Beginning of Always

by Snarryeyes



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-13
Updated: 2012-06-13
Packaged: 2017-11-07 15:35:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/432726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snarryeyes/pseuds/Snarryeyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As part of his New Year resolutions, Harry vows to turn over a new leaf, let go of old grudges. When Snape shows up at the Burrow as their First Footer, Harry takes that as a sign to see what kind of relationship he can have with Severus.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A New Leaf, A New Page, And The Beginning of Always

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Alisanne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alisanne/gifts).



> This was written for the 2012 Snarry swap on the Snape_Potter LJ/IJ/DW community. As always, JKR owns the characters - I'm just playing with them. :)

As the dark blue of the night sky slowly gave way to lighter hues, the only sound in the early morning hush was a symphony of bird song heralding a new day, a new year, and a new millennium. The clouds had cleared in the night so that when the sun finally peeped over the horizon, the tips of the trees were painted gold and the carpet of fresh snow on the frozen ground sparkled like millions of diamonds.

Harry lay awake in The Burrow, staring up at the ceiling in deep contemplation while Ron snored softly across the room. They had stayed up to see in the New Year, the whole Weasley clan, plus himself and Hermione of course, bidding goodbye to the last millennium and celebrating the birth of another. It had felt as if they were closing a difficult chapter in all of their lives, turning the page with a great deal of optimism. When conversation had inevitably turned to resolutions for the future, Harry had listened to the mixture of grand, and not so grand, plans of his family while he himself remained silent.

The last few years since Voldemort’s demise had been about living, not planning. He’d still been busy, naturally. He, Ron, and Hermione had gone to Australia to find Hermione’s parents and fix their memories and 12 Grimauld Place had been painstakingly restored to a proper home, not to mention the seemingly endless stream of events he’d had to attend as the guest of honour. He’d also had to give evidence at several trials of Death Eaters. But any questions about his future plans, and countless job offers, had been politely but firmly avoided.

Now it seemed he couldn’t put it off any longer. Today was his chance to put everything behind him and start afresh; figure out exactly what he wanted to do with the rest of his life, accept one of the waiting job offers, and, who knows, maybe settle down. He wasn’t going to be shackled by the past any longer. The pain, the anger, the guilt… it was time to let all of it go.

Harry’s eyes idly followed a Chudley Cannons Quidditch player zooming across the poster beside his bed. Maybe he should just take Professor McGonagall up on her offer. The Hogwarts Headmistress had seemed a little desperate for him to accept, after the unexpected resignation of a Professor on health grounds, and a severe shortage of suitable teaching staff. It was only for six months, after all, and it would give him time to sort out a permanent career path. Yes, that seemed like a good plan. God knows he owed McGonagall that much, and at least it would get Hermione off his back for a while. He loved her to death but, seriously, her nagging was driving him closer to the brink of insanity than even Voldemort had managed.

Exhausted, but content with his decision, Harry yawned and allowed his eyelids to close. If he was lucky, he might still be able to get a few more hours sleep before the morning madness ensued.

“Harry! Mum says breakfast’s nearly ready!”

Blearily opening his eyes at the sound of Ron’s voice, Harry reached for his glasses. By the time the room had come into focus, he was alone again. A quick glance at his watch told him it was past nine. Groaning, he heaved himself out of bed and grabbed his jeans; then, figuring he might as well set the ball rolling, snatched a spare piece of parchment from the desk and scribbled down a few lines before attaching the letter to a bouncing Pigwidgeon. He hadn’t been able to face buying another owl of his own after Hedwig.

A sea of redheads greeted him from the table as he descended the stairs—Mr Weasley, George, Percy, Charlie, Ginny, and Ron (Bill had left with Fleur in the early hours)—Hermione’s bushy brown hair standing out in stark contrast. Mrs Weasley was bustling around the kitchen as usual. 

“Ah, Harry, there you are, dear. Would you like one egg or two?”

The question made Harry realize exactly how hungry he was, his stomach rumbling at the very thought. “Two please, Mrs Weasley.” He heard her tut as he took the seat beside Ron.

“Less of the Mrs Weasley, Harry. You’re just as much my son as the rest of this rabble.”

“Hey,” Ron said indignantly through a mouthful, spraying bits of sausage across the table. Hermione, on Ron’s other side, gave him one of her disapproving looks.

“Better manners, too,” Mrs Weasley added, turning back to the stove.

“Hey, Harry,” George called from further along the table, “we’re planning a Quidditch rematch later. You in?”

“Yeah, sure,” Harry replied, smiling gratefully at Mrs Weasley as she deposited a plateful of food in front of him. They’d only won the last match by a narrow margin, Harry letting everyone have a turn with his Firebolt to make it fairer. Since Percy had refused to play, they’d convinced a reluctant Hermione to join in to even up the sides. Her expression had been constantly torn between terror at being on a broomstick and gritty determination to win the game. Hermione was nothing if not competitive.

“Ah, looks like we have our First Footer,” Mr Weasley said cheerfully, glancing out of the kitchen window. As everyone simultaneously turned to look, Mr Weasley folded his newspaper and got up from the table.

“Snape?” Ron looked aghast. “That’s got to be a bad omen, right?”

“He was cleared by the Ministry, Ron,” Hermione reminded him sternly, looking over to where Mr Weasley was talking in low tones with their visitor.

“Yeah, but he’s still a git,” Ron muttered under his breath.

Unfortunately Mrs Weasley heard him. “Ronald Weasley!”

Harry wasn’t really paying attention, too busy watching the two men thoughtfully while chewing. Snape seemed the same as ever, his expression severe and his presence imposing; although, as Harry studied him, he thought Snape looked somehow younger without the burden of war and duty weighing heavily upon him. Or it could just be the fact that he was standing in sunlight, rather than the gloomy, oppressive interior of the Hogwarts dungeons.

Harry hadn’t seen his ex-professor since he’d given exculpatory evidence at Snape’s trial. Upon being cleared of all charges, Snape had merely glanced briefly in his direction and left without a word. Harry couldn’t really have cared less—he’d done what he’d meant to do, what was right—but now he realized that, if he was to properly start afresh, he would have to let go of the longest-running grudge he’d ever nurtured. Sure, the man had made his teenage years a misery, but hadn’t Snape also protected him and risked his life to help him defeat Voldemort? Now was Harry’s chance to build bridges and maybe get to know the man to whom he owed so much. 

Finishing his last few mouthfuls quickly, Harry gathered his courage and got up, ignoring Ron’s questioning look. As he headed towards the familiar black-robed figure, he could just make out what Mr Weasley was saying. He seemed to be winding up their conversation.

“Oh, good. Thanks for that, Severus. Let me just go and get that sample for you.” 

Snape was left standing rigidly by the door, and Harry quickly seized the opportunity.

“Hello, Professor.”

Dark eyes swept in his direction, and Snape inclined his head slightly. “Mr Potter.”

“How are you?”

Snape looked a little suspicious by the attempt at conversation, his eyes narrowing slightly. “I am…very well… thank you.”

If Harry had looked around at that point he would have seen an array of gobsmacked faces staring in their direction, but he simply nodded. “Well, I’ll be seeing you at Hogwarts when term starts.”

The quirk of an eyebrow displayed Snape’s surprise, tinged with a certain amount of trepidation. “I was under the impression that you had completed your education.” 

“Oh, I have,” Harry replied, with a small smile. “Professor McGonagall has asked me to take over teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts until the end of the school year.” 

“Is that so?”

Harry could tell that Snape was not best pleased with this news—his lips had formed an ominously thin line. Apparently the headmistress had not consulted him on the matter. _For obvious reasons_ , Harry thought. Before he could say anything more, however, Mr Weasley returned and Harry took his leave with a polite nod.

“What was that?” Ron asked weakly, as Harry rejoined them. 

Harry shrugged. “I was just being polite.”

“You need your head checked, mate.”

“Well, I think it was a nice gesture,” Hermione said with a smile, linking arms with Harry as the three of them climbed the stairs. “So you’re taking Professor McGonagall up on her offer then?”

“Yeah. Just until the summer.”

She beamed at him, clearly pleased that he was doing something proactive. “That’s great. You’re making the right decision, Harry.” 

The memory of Snape’s thin pursed lips flashed to the front of Harry’s mind. “I hope so.”

***

It had been easier than he’d imagined, coming back. Hogwarts had been restored to its former glory, banishing the painful memories of the final battle, and the corridors were once again filled with the carefree laughter of its many students. Professor McGonagall had been delighted by his acceptance of the DADA post and, judging by the reactions of the students as he entered the Great Hall at the welcome feast, she wasn’t the only one. Harry’s cheeks had flushed slightly at the tumultuous applause, accompanied by more than a few wolf whistles, that greeted him as he made his way to the staff table. While all of the other teachers had joined in with the applause, particularly enthusiastically in Hagrid’s case, Snape had merely sat in silence, looking deeply unimpressed.

At the end of Harry’s first proper week of teaching, which he was finding surprisingly enjoyable, he decided to move one of his resolutions a little further along. And so it was that he found himself walking a very familiar route, one he’d taken countless times as a student, although this time his feelings of dread were for entirely different reasons.

He could hear Professor Snape’s severe voice echoing along the corridor long before he reached the classroom—it sounded as if one of the students was paying dearly for a lack of concentration. It brought back vivid memories, and Harry was once again thankful that his own school days were over.

Five minutes later the class of second years filed out, pale and quiet, and Harry gave them a sympathetic smile as they passed him. One of the students paused, looking quite serious, and said, “I really wouldn’t, sir,” before hurrying to catch up with her classmates. 

Once they were out of sight, their murmur of conversation fading away, Harry moved towards the door and then paused with his hand raised, suddenly wondering what the hell he was doing. Before he could come to any conclusions, the door abruptly swung open.

“Is there any particular reason why you’re loitering outside my classroom, Potter?”

Harry glanced at his frozen hand, still hanging in mid-air, and quickly dropped it. His mind had helpfully emptied itself of everything he had planned to say. “Erm… no, I mean yes.”

There was a glint of amusement in the black eyes. “I see you haven’t lost your gift for language. Care to decide on one of your answers?”

Feeling like a student again, Harry gathered his thoughts and took a deep breath. “Yes, there is a reason. I was wondering if you’d like to join me for a drink this evening.”

This was obviously the last thing that Snape was expecting, but his surprise only showed for a second before the cool mask covered it. “To what end, Professor?” The last word was said with a hint of distaste.

Harry shrugged. “We’re colleagues now; we should at least try to get along… you know, put the past behind us.” When Snape merely stood silently in the doorway, looking impassive, Harry held up his hands. “Okay, it was only a suggestion. Have a good evening, Professor.” He was halfway back along the corridor when Snape’s voice made him pause mid-step.

“It is customary to provide a time and a place.”

Hiding a victorious grin, Harry looked back. “I was thinking seven thirty at The Three Broomsticks.”

Snape nodded once. “I expect you to be prompt.”

“Of course.” Turning away again, Harry headed back up for dinner with a sense of satisfied accomplishment.

***

Anxious not to be late, Harry left the castle earlier than necessary. He had considered suggesting they meet in the entrance hall, but that would have meant a lot of curious looks from the students (and a long walk together without the distraction of alcohol). Harry had already spent more time than he’d care to admit on his choice of attire; he didn’t want to look like he’d made too much of an effort but, equally, he didn’t want to look shabby either. He’d always felt an inexplicable need for the man’s approval.

The Three Broomsticks was fairly busy, but there were still several free tables scattered throughout. Keeping his head down, Harry made his way to one tucked away in the corner by the crackling fire, wary of attracting unwanted attention. He slipped his coat and gloves off, raising his numb hands towards the flames to warm them. The combination of delicious warmth and flickering light was almost hypnotic and he visibly jumped when a tall figure slid into the chair opposite several minutes later.

“You were expecting me, were you not?”

Snape was eyeing him with a degree of amusement, dressed in his customary black. Harry pulled himself together and smiled a little awkwardly. “Of course. I was just warming up a bit.”

“You should be more vigilant. Did Moody teach you nothing?”

Alastor Moody’s voice immediately filled Harry’s head. _Constant vigilance!_

“I can take care of myself.”

Snape looked rather unconvinced but didn’t comment. Harry knew that Snape attributed Harry’s survival to luck rather than superior skill, which, he had to concede, was true up to a point. But Harry was still confident that he could take most wizards down in a duel if he had to. 

“What’ll it be, gentlemen?”

Rosmerta, the landlady, was smiling genially down at them, her gaze flitting from one to the other questioningly.

Deciding he was going to need a strong shot of alcohol, Harry smiled back and said, “I’ll have a Firewhisky, please.”

Snape raised an eyebrow at his choice, his eyes boring into Harry before flicking to Rosmerta’s face. “Make that two, Rosmerta.”

“Coming right up.”

As she bustled off, Harry fished around for something to say to break the silence that descended with her departure. Snape was studying him again, and Harry found the scrutiny very off-putting. “So, how was your first week of term?”

“Tolerable.”

Harry waited, but no further information seemed forthcoming. “Just tolerable?” he prompted.

“That word is sufficient.”

Harry sighed and glanced towards the bar to see if the drinks were coming any time soon. It was going to be a long evening.

The next hour or so passed in much the same way. Harry kept attempting to engage him in a conversation, asking a variety of questions, while Snape merely sat there in silence, except for the occasional one-word answer. Finally Harry gave up and called him on it, after downing a third glass of Firewhisky for courage.

“You know, a conversation needs to be a two-way thing to work.”

Snape smirked, raising his own glass to his lips. “You asked me to join you for a drink. Talking was not specified.”

Harry suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. He should have known that Snape would be purposefully difficult. Never one to back down from a challenge, though, he simply settled back in his chair with a mischievous smile. “Fine. I’ll talk, and you can listen.”

What followed was an intimate, detailed, examination of the lives of each and every Weasley family member since the war ended. Harry had to hide his amusement at Snape’s ever darkening expression as he talked. By the time Harry got to Percy’s ministry job, Snape had developed a noticeable twitch under his left eye and his lips were stretched so thin as to be almost invisible. It was only when Harry enthusiastically launched into the details of Ron and Hermione’s forthcoming nuptials that Snape forcefully interrupted, slamming his glass down.

“Enough!”

Harry had to fight to keep his expression neutral. “Is there a problem, Professor?”

The glare he got in response could have melted steel. “I will answer _one_ of your questions, Potter.”

Buoyed by his success, Harry shifted forwards and leant his elbows on the table, propping his chin upon his clasped hands. “Why did you join him?”

Snape didn’t need to ask who Harry was referring to, but looked momentarily surprised by the choice of question. He took another sip of his drink before answering, his tone deceptively light.

“As a Slytherin, it was almost expected. I was young and naïve, seduced by powerful friends and empty promises… and I had little else in my life.” His mouth twisted in a sneer. “Of course, I wouldn’t expect ‘The Chosen One’ to understand such things.”

“Don’t.” Harry’s face had hardened, all trace of amusement gone. “I never asked for any of that, and my childhood was anything but privileged. You know that better than anyone.”

Snape studied Harry over the rim of his glass for a moment, his expression unrepentant. “I saw only flashes of your memories. There was nothing substantial enough from which to draw any conclusions about your upbringing, and certainly nothing in your behaviour which suggested anything untoward.”

Harry clenched his jaw and looked away, focusing instead on the dying embers of the fire. “You saw what you wanted to see.”

“Perhaps.” 

Harry’s eyes shot back up. He was genuinely surprised by the acknowledgment, expecting either dismissal or denial. 

“But remember that you have me at a disadvantage,” Snape continued silkily. “You saw a great deal more of my memories than I yours.”

Blowing out a deep breath, Harry sank back against his chair, his anger draining away. Snape had a point. He’d given his memories to Harry willingly, and by doing so given him the means to destroy Voldemort for good. That fact could not easily be overlooked.

“Perhaps we should leave the past where it belongs, Mr Potter. There is nothing to be gained from dwelling on that which we cannot change. That is why we are here, is it not?”

Harry met his gaze steadily, feeling like they had at last reached some small modicum of understanding. “Yes. It is.”

As midnight approached, they began walking back up to the school together. After all, there would be no students around to see them—unless, as Snape pointed out with a twisted smile, they were the next generation of Gryffindor rule breakers. 

The wet snow stuck heavily to their boots, and Harry had to keep stamping his feet to clear them and restore some feeling to his numb toes. His situation was made infinitely worse when he accidentally stepped off the road and into a four-foot snow drift which came up to his chest. His curses caused an owl to fly off from a nearby tree, hooting indignantly.

“I see that age has not afforded you a better grasp on your temper,” Snape mused, as Harry’s feet found the road again and he brushed himself off. 

“And _I_ see that it hasn’t managed to improve your people skills,” Harry countered irritably, burying his frozen hands deep within his pockets, his teeth now chattering loudly.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Potter,” Snape said, his tone clearly exasperated. “Are you not a wizard?” 

Withdrawing his wand from his robes he pointed it at Harry, and the next moment Harry felt warmth rise up from the tips of his toes to the top of his messy black hair, very effectively banishing the damp chill from the snow. He smiled a little awkwardly as Snape stowed his wand.

“Thanks.”

“I was only thinking of Minerva. She’d hate to have to find yet another Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.”

Much to Snape’s obvious astonishment, Harry burst out laughing. The sound echoed in the frozen air around them. “Fair enough.”

They walked on for another few minutes, the silence between them now slightly more comfortable, and then Harry felt the tingle of magic as they passed through the invisible wards at the castle gates. He glanced sideways at the man walking on his left. Despite his misgivings, the evening had gone a lot better than expected and he was beginning to think that they actually could have a relationship based on something other than mutual loathing and distrust. It was certainly an interesting prospect.

Before they stepped inside the castle and went their separate ways, Harry felt the need to address the possibility. “Well, it was an interesting evening, Professor. Same time next Friday?”

Snape stopped on the threshold of the Entrance Hall and turned, giving Harry a slightly incredulous look. “You wish to repeat that, Potter?”

Harry shrugged. “Why not? I only got to ask one question, after all… and please stop calling me Potter. I’m not your student any longer. Harry will do fine.”

“Indeed,” said Snape, his eyes glittering in the moonlight. He paused, and then added, “And you may address me as Professor Snape.”

Harry had to suppress his laughter this time, wary of waking someone. “So is that a yes?”

“Perhaps, if I have nothing to better occupy my time.”

Harry snorted and headed inside but, as they started to part ways, something suddenly occurred to him.

“You thought I was going to ask about my mum, didn’t you?”

Snape paused and turned, looking resigned to continuing the conversation. “It seemed a more logical choice.”

“Well, you’ll find that I’m full of surprises,” Harry said brightly. “Goodnight, Professor.”

Harry took the steps two at a time, leaving Snape to stare after him.

***

Despite Professor Snape’s continued feigned indifference, he slid into the chair opposite Harry in The Three Broomsticks the following Friday at precisely seven thirty, and again the week after that. Soon it became habitual. With each meeting the conversation became a little easier, both opening up a little more, although Snape would still only deign to answer one question. It took a month before Harry finally convinced Snape to call him by his first name, and another month before Snape consented to Harry doing the same. Harry actually considered this one of his greatest achievements. Of course, there was no discernible difference in his behaviour within Hogwarts but Friday evenings were enough for now.

As March became April, heralding the approach of Easter, Harry received the wedding invitation he’d been expecting from Ron and Hermione, accompanied by a short note asking if they could visit the following Saturday. Grinning, he’d quickly sent a reply with one of the school owls to say yes. He hadn’t seen either of them since the beginning of the year, and was missing their constant company. Although he now considered Severus a friend, even a good one, he could not replace Harry’s two best friends in the world. Imagining their reactions when he told them of his new friendship was certainly a source of amusement over the course of that week.

“I always assumed that you would become a proper Weasley yourself.”

Harry had just finished telling Severus about the invitation he’d received and Ron and Hermione’s forthcoming visit; they were both sitting at what had become their customary table in the corner of The Three Broomsticks by the crackling fire, half empty glasses in front of them.

Harry blinked at him, and then smiled. “You mean Ginny?” At Severus’ nod, Harry’s smile widened. “No. That experiment didn’t work out at all; she was always more like a sister to me.” His hand closed around his glass and he took a sip, hesitating before recklessly plunging on. “Besides, she doesn’t have the right equipment.”

Severus’ eyebrows rose to meet his hairline. “I assume you are not just talking about Miss Weasley in particular.”

“No,” Harry chuckled, swirling the remaining liquid in his glass. “Women in general. I figured that out pretty quickly.” He looked back up. “Only a handful of people are aware of that, though. I’m not ready for the whole wizarding world to know just yet.”

Severus inclined his head. “Then I am suitably honoured to be included in that handful.” He raised his glass to his lips and then paused, smirking. “You’ll crush the hopes of simpering teenage girls everywhere.”

“I can live with that,” Harry grinned. He was beyond relieved that the older man had taken it so well. Even though he had learned that homosexuality was accepted much more readily by the wizarding community, compared to the Muggle world, it was still a test of their new found friendship and Severus hadn’t faltered.

“It will certainly make my task easier. I had to deduct house points from two third year Hufflepuffs today for loudly discussing the allure of your eyes instead of concentrating on their shrinking potion.”

Harry snorted softly. “I’m surprised you didn’t give them both detention.”

“I couldn’t fault their judgement on that particular topic,” Severus replied matter-of-factly, draining his drink.

Harry’s surprise was only momentary before his mind flashed back to the shrieking shack, and what he had believed to be Severus’ final words. _Look at me_. His mother. The thought caused a strange sinking feeling somewhere in the region of his stomach. 

“May I ask if you’ll be staying at Hogwarts for the holidays?”

The question roused Harry from his stupor, making him blink. “Probably. I have a ton of marking to do.” He paused, downing the last of his drink. “Will _you_ stay?”

Severus’ black eyes glinted. “I believe that you’ve already asked your question for tonight.”

Harry frowned, casting his mind back over the conversation. “No, I haven’t—“ His brain screeched to a sudden halt, his own words returning to him. _‘You mean Ginny?’_ He looked back up at the smug man before him. “That doesn’t count.”

“A question is a question, Harry. Choose your words more carefully in future.”

Scowling, Harry ordered another drink. He didn’t let himself ponder the fact that he was finding the smooth, deep, timbre of Severus’ voice increasingly appealing.

***

“Don’t you think you’re taking this thing a bit far?”

Harry let out a bark of laughter. “It’s a few drinks once a week, Ron. We’re not getting married.”

The three of them were stretched out beside the lake, enjoying the warm spring sunshine. With the majority of the students gone for the holidays or studying hard for forthcoming exams, there was an air of peaceful tranquillity. Ron’s face, however, was currently fixed in a frown.

“Once a _month_ should be enough for anyone,” he muttered, picking at the grass.

Hermione bumped Ron’s arm in silent admonishment and smiled at Harry. “Just ignore him. I think it’s wonderful that you and Professor Snape are finally getting along. How’s your teaching going?”

“Great,” Harry said, grinning. He went on to explain all about his different classes, told them about particular students who’d come to his attention (either for good or bad reasons), and Ron became perfectly cheerful once more. He was now helping George out with Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes in Diagon Alley. They had an interesting discussion about some of the new products George and Ron were working on, and Harry wondered how many he’d have to confiscate in his classes. Hermione then filled him in on her progress as an apprentice healer at St Mungo’s, where she’d been working for the last year or so. She was, predictably, well ahead of her fellow apprentices.

Of course, the conversation then moved on to wedding plans and the constant battle to reign in Mrs Weasley’s grand ideas. The sound of their laughter frequently echoed out across the lake as the hours passed.

When the sun began to dip towards the horizon, the three of them got to their feet and brushed the grass from their clothes.

“It feels strange to be back here again,” Hermione said, gazing up at the castle as they began to walk back. “But it’s lovely to see Hogwarts just as it was before the war.”

"Yeah, ready for the next generation of Weasleys,” Ron smiled, wrapping an arm around her.

“Not quite yet, Ronald.”

Ron’s smile suddenly faltered. “Oh, great.” Harry and Hermione both followed his gaze, spotting a familiar black clad figure emerging from the forest.

“Professor Snape!” Hermione called in greeting, ignoring Ron’s moaned protest.

Severus didn’t look any happier about this than Ron—Harry got the distinct impression that he was fighting the urge to turn around and disappear back into the forest—but nevertheless he continued to walk towards them.

“Miss Granger, Mr Weasley.” He nodded curtly. “I believe congratulations are in order.” 

While Ron attempted a polite smile, which came out more like a grimace, Hermione beamed and took it as encouragement to engage in conversation. Ten minutes later, after an in-depth discussion on a certain potion that she was using to treat one of her patients, Ron decided that enough was enough.

“Well, we should be getting back. It was great to see you, mate.”

Trying not to laugh at Severus’ relieved expression, Harry said, “You too. Good luck with the wedding plans.”

“Thanks. Oh, you’ll be my best man, right?”

“Of course I will,” Harry grinned, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Brilliant,” said Ron, grinning back. “You know, you should come back to The Burrow when you have a free day. It would be good to distract mum for a bit, and Charlie keeps asking after you.” Lowering his voice, he nudged Harry’s arm and added, “We might still get you married to a Weasley yet.”

Laughing, Harry replied, “Tell them I’ll visit soon.” Turning to Hermione, he noticed that Severus’ eyes were trained on him intently. It caused an odd sensation, which had come and gone before he could analyse it.

“Take care of yourself, Harry,” she smiled, her eyes flitting to Severus briefly before she pulled Harry into a hug. “We’ll see you soon.”

“They haven’t changed, I see,” Severus commented, as they both stood watching the couple walk away towards the gates where they could Apparate.

“Oh, they have,” Harry replied softly, his eyes fixed on their retreating backs. “We’ve all changed.”

Severus turned his head a fraction to look at him again. “Indeed.”

***

As always, the holidays seemed to pass in a blur and all too soon the students returned and lessons recommenced. With the fifth and seventh years approaching their O.W.Ls and N.E.W.Ts, there was an even heavier workload for Harry to contend with in order to get them ready, including an increased amount of practical work. Consequently he was often exhausted by each Friday evening, a fact that did not go unnoticed.

A small respite from work came on May 2nd—a date remembered by every witch and wizard across the land, and one that Harry was not likely to forget. It was the day he had finally defeated Voldemort. It was now an annual holiday, a time for celebrations and thanksgiving, and Hogwarts was no exception, holding a grand feast in honour of the occasion. Harry made a brief appearance in the Great Hall, as it was expected of him, but then retired to his rooms for the evening, still feeling a certain amount of guilt weighing on his shoulders at the cost of his victory.

He was almost drifting off in his very comfortable armchair, the book he’d been attempting to read slipping from his hands, when a knock at the door jolted him awake. Stretching, he got up, glancing at the time. Almost nine.

When he wrenched the door open, Harry’s mouth fell open in surprise. “Severus!”

“A passable impression of a guppy fish,” Severus smirked. “Am I disturbing you?”

Harry snapped his mouth shut and smiled. “Not at all. Come in.”

Severus walked inside, looking around the room with apparent interest before turning back to face Harry. “May I ask why you are not down at the feast? You _are_ the guest of honour.”

Harry closed the door and leaned back against it, a sigh escaping his lips. “I guess I don’t feel like celebrating. A lot of good people died that day.” He saw the tiniest flash of empathy in the black depths, and realized that Severus was probably feeling exactly the same way. This day held difficult memories for them both.

“Would you object to some company? In a non-celebratory capacity, obviously.”

“Of course not,” Harry said, moving again. “I think I have a bottle of non-celebratory whisky somewhere if you’re interested. I don’t like to drink alone.”

“One glass, perhaps.”

One glass of whisky became two, and then three, and before they knew it they’d managed to get through the whole bottle over the space of an hour or so. While Severus seemed unaffected, outwardly at least, Harry was finding it increasingly difficult to think clearly. 

“Do you ever wear any colours other than black, Sev?” he asked, the words sluggishly spilling from his lips.

Glancing sideways at him, Severus quirked an eyebrow. “I was not aware that we had progressed to pet names.” He was sitting on the couch beside Harry, his body relaxed back against the cushions comfortably. “What colour would you have me wear, precisely? Pink?” 

Harry giggled, slipping a little further down towards the floor. “No. How about dark green? You’d look good in green.”

Severus looked slightly taken aback by the unexpected compliment. “Green is a possibility, being a traditional Slytherin colour. I must admit to having a penchant for a certain shade.”

Harry studied him and the laughter faded from his face. “My mum’s eyes.”

“They were beautiful.” Severus looked down at the remnants of whisky in his glass, and then added, almost as an afterthought, “As are yours.”

Harry’s shoulders slumped, his alcoholic buzz disappearing fast. “But they’re not mine. They’re hers. That’s what everyone always tells me.” Severus lifted his head but before he could form a response to this, Harry blurted out, “You loved her.”

They both knew the inevitability of this conversation from the very beginning but, as Severus held his gaze, Harry regretted saying anything. He was too afraid of the answer.

“Yes, I did. But not in the way you think. Lily was my one, true childhood friend and I loved her as such.”

Something like relief flowed through Harry at these words. “You weren’t in love with her?”

“No,” Severus replied softly. “I am… not that way inclined.”

Harry continued to stare at him for a moment before his face broke into a smile. “You never said.”

Severus smirked and drained his drink. “You never asked.” Placing the empty glass down, he got to his feet. “I should go. It is late.”

Harry immediately sprang up to protest but, his legs unsteady, he stumbled and ended up in a pair of deceptively strong arms. Blinking to clear the dizziness, he straightened up and found himself inches away from Severus’ slightly exasperated face.

“How on earth have you managed to survive all these years?”

Harry grinned. “I’ve always had you there to catch me.” He paused, looking up at Severus, and found himself drawn into the intensely black gaze. “Your eyes are beautiful, too,” he murmured dreamily, “like bottomless pools.” His gaze moved down to Severus’ lips and, without a thought in his head, he closed the gap to softly meet them.

Severus didn’t move for a few seconds, standing rigidly, then his fingers closed around Harry’s collar. But, instead of being pushed away, Harry was pulled even closer. Severus seemed to come alive at that moment, opening his mouth to deepen the kiss while spinning Harry around so that his back was against the opposite wall.

Harry’s fuzzy brain could barely comprehend what was happening, but his body was certainly reacting favourably and the kiss quickly became frenzied and desperate, hands clutching and scrabbling needfully. He shivered as a blast of cold air hit his heated skin, all of their clothing having abruptly vanished. Severus hoisted him up and, taking the hint, Harry wrapped his legs firmly around the older man’s waist, feeling a tingle of magic as he was wordlessly prepared.

Then Severus was inside him, filling Harry to his very core. The sensation briefly sharpened his dulled senses and he moaned into Severus’ mouth, his body flooded with pleasure, over and over again with every thrust until he thought he might break apart from the power of it. Gasping, Harry dropped his head back against the wall and closed his eyes while Severus’ hungry mouth travelled down to devour his neck. 

In no time at all, Harry felt the pleasure peak in a sudden rush, felt Severus stiffen, warmth spreading within and across his body, and then the combination of alcohol and exhaustion pulled him down into darkness.

***

Harry awoke in his bed, in the cold light of dawn, his only company a raging headache. Squinting with the effort of trying to remember the night’s events, his eyes suddenly widened as snippets of memories flashed before his eyes. Hot, sweaty, skin, a hard stone wall, powerful thrusts… Severus. His flaccid cock stirred with interest. Ignoring it, Harry propped himself up on his pillows, wincing as his head protested against the sudden movement, and looked around, listening. There was no sign of the other man, and he couldn’t remember anything to indicate how the evening had ended… sex notwithstanding.

Huffing in frustration, and giving up any hope of more sleep, Harry gingerly got up and made his way to the bathroom for a shower. Glancing down at his naked body, he adjusted the water setting to cold.

An hour later, with the distant rumble of hundreds of feet heralding the start of the school day, Harry opened the door of his rooms, steeling himself for the day ahead. More than anything he wished he could just return to bed and warm darkness, his head still throbbing. He paused on the threshold as something on the floor caught his eye. A small phial. Harry bent down to retrieve it, finding a small note attached to it with a very familiar scrawl.

 

_For your headache._

 

The note was short and to the point, but Harry was touched by the gesture nonetheless. Not so long ago, he would have thought that Snape was trying to kill him but now he was quite happy to down the contents in one. The effect was immediate, like a cool breeze on a sultry summer night, gently taking the pain away. He would have to thank Severus later, but first he had a class full of fifth years to deal with.

Much to Harry’s disappointment, Severus did not join the rest of the staff for lunch in the Great Hall. So, when his classes finished for the day, Harry decided to actively search for the elusive potions professor. Finding no sign of him in the dungeons, Harry then headed for the staff room. When he poked his head in, he found only one occupant. Unfortunately it wasn’t the one he was looking for.

“Harry,” Professor McGonagall smiled, the kind of smile an aunt reserves for her favourite nephew. Despite her promotion to headmistress, McGonagall much preferred to sit in the staff room during the day. She had told him that she wanted to be closer to the rest of the staff, but Harry suspected that it was more to do with getting away from the headmasters’ portraits, who had talked across each other constantly when he’d last visited on the night of his return. It would have been highly amusing if it hadn’t been for the obvious toll it was taking on her patience. 

“Do you need something?”

Harry smiled back at her. “Erm… sort of.” Feeling foolish standing with half his body inside the room and half out, Harry stepped inside and closed the door. “Have you seen Professor Snape at all?”

“No, I can’t help you there, I’m afraid,” she replied. “Perhaps you should check the greenhouses.”

Of course! Why hadn’t he thought of that? “Okay, thanks.”

He turned to go, but McGonagall spoke again. “I must say that I’m glad to see you and Severus getting along so much better. As you can imagine, he was less than enthusiastic about your appointment here.”

Harry chuckled. “Yeah, I caught that. Let’s just say that we’ve finally found some common ground.”

Professor McGonagall nodded approvingly. “Good.” She paused before adding, with a twinkle in her eye that Dumbledore would have been proud of, “You know, you’re welcome to stay on with us next year if you’d like.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Harry replied casually, grinning as he shut the door behind him.

***

Severus wasn’t in any of the greenhouses, or in the Great Hall for dinner. Running short on ideas, Harry used one of the school owls to send him a short note asking if anything was wrong. It was possible that he was unwell—he had to get sick sometimes, especially living in a damp, draughty dungeon—but Harry now had an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach that his disappearance wasn’t attributable to anything quite so simple.

This feeling was compounded the following day when he finally caught sight of Severus in the distance while walking back from visiting Hagrid’s. Harry was certain that Severus had heard him calling, but the other man kept on walking regardless. Friday came around and, even though he was fairly sure it was pointless, Harry went down to The Three Broomsticks as usual. He sat next to the fire until it had burned down, staring at the empty chair opposite as if he could make Severus appear by sheer force of will. The seat remained empty. 

Harry’s initial state of bewilderment and confusion had now been replaced by an entirely different emotion—anger. Trudging back to Hogwarts alone in the darkness, Harry decided that enough was enough. Severus was going to talk to him, whether he wanted to or not.

When Harry arrived back at the castle, he bypassed the stairs and headed down towards the dungeons instead. It was only when he reached the dimly lit corridor that eventually led to the Slytherin common room (he’d discovered it in his second year) that he realized he didn’t actually know where the entrance to Severus’ personal rooms was located. He’d seen the older man disappear down here enough times, though.

An ugly looking warlock was eyeing him distrustfully from a nearby portrait. Harry decided on the direct approach. “Could you tell me where I can find the entrance to Professor Snape’s rooms, please?”

“I could,” he answered gruffly, and then fell silent.

Harry sighed inwardly. Trust the portraits down here to be as difficult as the Slytherin head of house himself. “So, where is it?”

“Where it’s always been.”

“And where’s that?”

“You should know if you’re in Slytherin.”

“Yes, but obviously I’m not.”

“Didn’t think so.”

“So, where is it?”

“What?”

Harry was on the verge of banging his head against the wall when he suddenly thought of a blindingly obvious solution.

“Kreacher!”

With a loud crack the house elf appeared beside Harry, looking as shabby as ever in his dingy rags. “Master needs something from old Kreacher?”

“Yes. I need you to show me where the entrance to Professor Snape’s rooms is.”

Kreacher immediately grabbed his hand and, with another crack, Harry found himself in front of a seemingly innocent stretch of bare stone wall. He turned back to Kreacher with a frown. “Are you sure?”

The elf nodded, and reached up with one long finger. “Master must touch these four stones with his wand.”

Harry was beginning to think he’d have to battle a dragon as well to achieve his goal. Removing his wand from his pocket, he peered closer. Those particular stones _did_ seem more scuffed than the others. And to think his old head of house, Professor McGonagall, had just had a regular door.

Holding his wand aloft, Harry tapped the four stones and, within seconds, a rather ornate wooden door had formed in the wall. He stood looking at it for a moment, gathering courage, and then stepped forward.

“Thanks, Kreacher. I’ll take it from here.”

The answering crack was drowned out by Harry’s loud rapping. “Severus?” He paused, listening, but when no answer came he rapped again more loudly. “Severus! I’ll stand here knocking all night if I have to!”

Harry stumbled forwards as the door suddenly swung open, just managing to stop himself from falling in a heap on the carpet.

“That is not necessary,” a familiar deep voice intoned dryly. “I prefer my door intact.”

Straightening up, Harry saw that Severus was sitting at a large desk at the far end of the room, bent over reams of parchment. Harry’s gaze swept the rest of the room. It was nothing like he’d expected. Slytherin colours, of course, but it was—there was no other word for it— _cosy_. There was a large fire burning to one side, opposite a plush couch, and the walls were lined with bookshelves containing massive tomes on many subjects but most were, as expected, potions related. The room even had Severus’ distinctive aroma.

“Did you come down here just to stare gormlessly? Or is there another reason for intruding upon my solitude? You have two minutes.”

Shaking himself, Harry strode towards the desk purposefully. “What’s going on?”

Severus didn’t look up. “I’m marking dismal attempts at homework.”

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it. You’ve been avoiding me since Tuesday and you didn’t show up for drinks tonight.”

“I have been busy, Potter. “

The renewed use of Harry’s last name caused a flash of hurt, and anger bubbled up from within him. 

“Really,” he said dryly. “You got what you wanted so you’re not going to waste any more time on me—is that it, _Professor_?”

The scratching of the quill ceased as Severus looked up, his expression one of cool indifference. 

“That night was a mistake. You were clearly inebriated, and I should not have taken advantag—“

“Taken advantage?” Harry interjected, his tone incredulous. “I may have been drunk, but don’t think for a moment that I didn’t know exactly what I was doing.”

“Nevertheless, it will not happen again.”

“Why?” Harry asked forcefully, slamming his hands down on the desk. 

“You’d like a list?” Severus snapped. “Fine. One, I’m old enough to be your father. Two, you’re the blessed saviour of the wizarding world, the revered golden one, while I’m an ex-Death Eater who is spat upon in the streets. And three, by far the most important reason, I have absolutely no desire to repeat that particular mistake.”

Harry shook his head furiously. “That’s not true. You’re just being an idiot.”

The dark eyes flashed with a sudden fire as Severus sprang out of his chair and rounded the desk to face him, reminding Harry just how intimidating the man could be. “You may not be a student any longer, Potter, but I will _not_ be spoken to in such a manner. Your two minutes are up.”

“But—“

Go!”

Before Harry could gather his conflicting thoughts to try a fresh attempt at reason, he found himself back in the corridor with the door slammed firmly in his face.

***

“… So, after all that, we decided on lavender for the bridesmaids. I think it’s the right decision, and as for the flowers…”

Harry let Hermione’s voice wash over him as he stared out of The Burrow’s kitchen window, his mind drifting, as it so often did, back to the man who was never very far from his thoughts. It had been over a month since the night of their argument, and Severus was determinedly keeping his distance. He had barely spoken to Harry, except for the odd curt word born purely out of professional courtesy, and it was as if a knife was permanently embedded in Harry’s chest.

He hadn’t expected it to hurt so much—in fact, he’d been staggered by the force of the pain each cold encounter inflicted upon his soul. It wasn’t just pain, but an aching emptiness. He found himself missing the older man’s company more and more, missing simple things like sharing teaching stories, or just the way Severus’ mouth almost grudgingly curled upwards when he was amused. Harry missed his voice, the smooth silkiness of it, even when Severus was inevitably insulting him. And he missed their Friday nights. Harry had kept up the tradition, in the vain hope that perhaps Severus would change his mind and join him. Each time that hope was dashed, it hurt a little bit more.

Of course, both the staff and students at Hogwarts had noticed that something wasn’t right. He couldn’t keep his anguish hidden all the time. The other professors were constantly questioning him about it and, although Harry refused to give any details, they had surmised that it had something to do with Severus, seeing as he was being even more short-tempered and disagreeable than usual. Consequently, some had taken to aiming glares in Severus’ direction whenever he swept into a room, and Harry knew for a fact that McGonagall had questioned him about it. It was no good though, and when the school year ended, he had decided to hand in his resignation.

“Please tell me what’s wrong, Harry.”

Hermione’s whispered plea brought Harry back to the present. He looked back at her and forced a smile. “I’m fine.”

“No,” Hermione shook her head, “you’re _not_. You’ve been miserable for weeks.” She reached across the table to take his hand in her own. “I hate seeing you like this. Please, talk to me.”

Harry looked down at their joined hands, rubbing his thumb over her palm absentmindedly as a sigh escaped his lips. He wasn’t sure he _could_ talk about it, even with Hermione—who he knew would listen to him without judgement. 

“It’s Professor Snape, isn’t it?”

Harry’s head snapped up in surprise. “What?”

“Come on, Harry, I’m not blind,” Hermione smiled softly. “I could see something developing between the two of you beyond friendship, but recently you’ve stopped talking about him.”

Harry glanced around the kitchen, checking that they were quite alone. Mrs Weasley had taken Ron upstairs to check his suit measurements again, much to Ron’s obvious annoyance.

“Okay, yes,” Harry admitted quietly. “Things… aren’t good between us at the moment.”

Hermione leaned forward, squeezing his hand encouragingly. “What happened?”

It was strange. After not wanting to talk about it at all, Harry found that, once he’d started, he couldn’t stop. It was like opening a dam, all of his pent up emotions pouring out along with the tale. Hermione listened quietly without interrupting, her tight grip on his hand offering comfort and reassurance. It was remarkably cathartic and, when Harry had finished, he found that the weight in his gut had lessened considerably. 

There was no trace of repulsion on Hermione’s face in response, only heartfelt sympathy. 

“You know what I think?” she asked, plunging ahead without waiting for an answer. “I think Professor Snape realized the extent of his connection with you that night, and it scared him.”

Harry let out a short, mirthless laugh. “Yeah, well he’s good at hiding it.”

“Of course he is. He _was_ a spy, remember.” She paused and squeezed his hand again. “Don’t give up on him, Harry. With everything he’s been through, Professor Snape has had to build up a thick layer of armour over the years to protect himself; it’s going to be very hard for him to let someone in now.”

“I just don’t know what to do.”

“Be patient. I’m sure he’ll see sense eventually… otherwise I’ll just knock it into him.”

Harry laughed again, this time genuinely. “A lot of people would pay to watch that.”

Hermione’s cheeks flushed a little as she smiled. Then she abruptly got up and rounded the table to pull him into a fierce hug. “We’re always here for you, Harry.”

Her use of the word ‘we’ caused Harry to remember his other best friend, and his stomach clenched uncomfortably as he returned the hug. 

“Do you think Ron will freak when he finds out?” he asked quietly, glancing towards the stairs as he spoke. “He only barely coped with our friendship.”

When Hermione pulled back to look at him, her jaw was set in that determined way which promised results. “Leave Ronald to me.”

Smiling, Harry leant forward to kiss her cheek. “Thanks, Hermione. You’re one in a million.”

She laughed and shook her head, making the dark curls bounce around her face. “No, I’m not. _He’s_ sitting in front of me.”

***

Harry tried very hard to heed Hermione’s advice as the school year slowly drew to a close, but it was by no means easy. Severus remained as distant as ever. Even the gloriously warm weather did little to cheer Harry up—he was running out of time.

His chance came unexpectedly. On a Saturday morning, a few weeks before school finished, Professor McGonagall caught up with him on his way down to breakfast.

“Harry! Just the man I was looking for.”

Harry stopped, moving aside to let students pass. “How can I help, Professor?”

“Minerva,” Professor McGonagall corrected sternly. “You’re not a fresh faced eleven year old anymore.”

“Sorry,” Harry grinned sheepishly. “Force of habit.”

Professor McGonagall waved his apology away briskly. “Could you possibly supervise today’s Hogsmeade visit? Filius is unwell, and I have about a hundred things to do with all these examinations going on.”

Harry _had_ been looking forward to a nice, quiet day, steeling himself to write his letter of resignation, but found that he couldn’t refuse his old Head of House. “Yeah, sure.”

“Oh, thank you—you’re a life-saver. They’re all meeting in the Entrance Hall at two.” 

In the blink of an eye, she’d disappeared into the crowd and Harry continued down to breakfast. When he entered the Great Hall, Severus got up from the staff table and exited through the side door. Harry pretended not to notice.

As two o’clock approached, Harry donned his cloak and reluctantly left the sanctuary of his rooms, descending the stairs to the Entrance Hall. As he neared the bottom step, however, he paused, spotting a black-clad figure amongst the milling crowd. Severus looked up at that moment and saw him, instantly mirroring Harry’s expression of maligned resignation. It was clear that they’d both been set up. Harry swallowed and continued his descent, a small spark of hope blossoming in his chest. 

While most students quietened down when the two professors moved to stand in front of them, there were a few brave souls who continued to talk excitedly.

“Silence,” Severus snapped, and immediately a deathly hush fell. Harry hid a smile. He’d always been impressed by Snape’s ability to command an audience.

“Each of your names will be checked against this list,” Severus continued icily, holding up a roll of parchment. “If your name does not appear on here, then you do not go. I trust that is clear enough for your miniscule brains to comprehend. Now, form a line.”

It went very smoothly under Severus’ stern direction, and soon they were all walking the well-trodden path down to Hogsmeade in the June sunshine. Harry’s hopes for a conversation with Severus were dashed, however, when the older man insisted that Harry lead the group while he, himself, brought up the rear. Harry could hear his harsh reprimands directed at certain students echo in the still air as he strode ahead.

The group gradually broke apart as they entered the village, most of the students heading straight for the brightly coloured Honeydukes sweet shop—no doubt intending to stock up for the summer. Harry looked back to see Severus talking sternly to a fifth year Hufflepuff, who looked mildly terrified at being singled out. She kept glancing over at her friends, who were standing nearby, for support.

Harry decided to enjoy the sunshine a little longer and headed past The Three Broomsticks to sit down by the stone fountain in the centre of the square. He stretched out his legs and tilted his face up to the sun, closing his eyes to relish the warmth. It had a soporific effect. Harry wasn’t sure how long he stayed that way, but when he opened his eyes again he saw that Severus’ gaze was trained on him from across the street. As soon as their eyes met, Severus quickly looked away and pretended to be interested in a nearby shop window. 

Harry sighed inwardly, his gaze wandering to a nearby group of students. He could only see the face of one of them—a very quiet, solemn third year Slytherin who seldom contributed anything in class, although Harry knew for a fact that he was very bright. The other boys surrounding him looked older, perhaps fifth or sixth years, and they were talking to him intensely. Harry’s eyes narrowed. Something just didn’t feel right about it. He was about to go and investigate when he was distracted by Severus crossing the street, looking as though he was heading for The Three Broomsticks. 

Figuring he might as well try, Harry called, “Professor Snape!” but, predictably, Severus did not break stride.

Harry gave up and turned back to the group of students. Instantly, he knew that something was wrong. The youngest boy had gone rigid, his jaw and fists clenched, his eyes flashing. Harry had experienced something like it himself enough times when he was younger to know that the boy’s magic was building up to dangerous proportions within the slender confines of his body, pushed beyond his control, presumably by the actions of his peers.

Drawing his wand, Harry jumped to his feet. He shouted something as he ran forwards, a warning of some sort although he wasn’t aware of the exact words, concentrating on throwing a protective shield around the many students nearby. The next second it felt like a bludger had hit him in the chest. He was thrown backwards, hearing several distant cries. There was a blinding pain in his head and then everything went black.

***

The first thing that Harry became aware of was a pounding headache. The second was a familiar, oddly comforting scent. It was only when he blearily opened his eyes and tried to focus on his surroundings that he was able to place it.

“Lie still or you risk exacerbating your injury.”

The velvety deep voice was like a balm to his soul. 

_Severus_. 

Harry couldn’t see him from where he was lying on the plush couch he’d seen so many weeks ago, but a moment later a blurred figure settled next to him and something cold was placed at his lips. Harry opened his mouth and drank without question, grimacing slightly at the potion’s bitter taste but immensely thankful for its immediate effects. He sank back onto the cushions and looked up at Severus, unable to gauge his expression without his glasses.

“You should never drink something without first ascertaining that it is safe. Have I taught you nothing?” 

Harry gave a small shrug, carefully adjusting his position to get more comfortable. “I trust you.”

Severus didn’t appear to have an answer for that. He simply said, “I have repaired the damage, but you should rest for a few hours to aid your recovery.”

“What happened?”

“Your foolish Gryffindor tendency to do something heroic, at the risk of your own life, happened,” Severus replied irritably. “You protected the students but neglected to shield yourself when Ryder’s magic surged, resulting in a sizeable crack in that thick skull of yours.”

Harry couldn’t have cared less that he was being insulted because he could tell that, underneath that tough exterior, Severus had been worried. He _did_ care. That made any injury fade into insignificance.

“If I’d known this would get you talking to me, I’d have knocked myself out weeks ago,” Harry murmured, squinting around for his glasses which were then placed in his hand. The room came into focus as Harry gingerly slid them on, his eyes instantly flying to Severus’ face. 

The older man looked conflicted and started to rise but Harry reached out to grab his robes, holding him in place. “Stay with me for a while. Please?”

Relenting, Severus sat back down and Harry relaxed his grip. “Is Thomas alright?”

“Mr Ryder is shaken, but unharmed. It seems that he has been subjected to a sustained level of taunts and jibes this year due to his father’s recent imprisonment for practising dark magic. I will, of course, be looking into the matter thoroughly.”

Harry exhaled heavily, remembering his own troubled childhood and the way he had withdrawn into himself. His magic had burst forth several times when things had become too much. “I should have seen the signs earlier.” 

“As should I,” Severus replied, a trace of regret colouring his tone. “As his head of house, it is my duty to ensure his safety and well-being. Lately, however, I have found myself… somewhat distracted.”

“I’ve missed you, too,” Harry said softly.

Severus opened his mouth, no doubt to protest, but Harry quickly pressed a finger to his lips. “Just listen to me for a minute, okay? I don’t give a damn about your age, or what people will think. I don’t care about anything. I just want to be with you.”

Severus shook his head as Harry dropped his hand. “It is not that simple.”

Throwing caution to the wind, Harry surged upwards and effectively silenced any and all arguments with his mouth, gripping Severus’ robes tightly to prevent escape as he laid his heart on the line. After what seemed like an eternity, but only a few seconds in reality, he felt Severus’ lips begin to respond. Harry felt a heady rush of relief and joy, relishing an embrace unclouded by alcohol. His dim memories did not do it justice. 

Finally Harry lifted his head, unwilling to pull away fully. Not until he was sure. Severus’ black eyes gave nothing away, but his grip remained reassuringly strong. Emboldened, Harry raised a finger to gently trace a path down his pale cheek.

“It is if you let it be. Stop running from this, Severus. Stay with me.” 

There was still a degree of doubt clouding the dark orbs so Harry leaned in to capture Severus’ mouth again, persuading him the best way he knew how. When he swiped his tongue across Severus’ lips, seeking entry, the older man’s self-control appeared to snap completely and he plundered Harry’s mouth like a man starved. 

A barrage of emotions and sensations swept through Harry like fire, and he was unable to stop a moan from escaping as he met Severus’ tongue just as enthusiastically, his fingers creeping under the older man’s robes to reach warm flesh. Severus ripped his mouth away and, for a split-second, Harry was afraid that he’d had second thoughts again, but his fear was proved unfounded when Severus merely moved to attack his neck, pushing him back down onto the couch. Feeling giddy with relief and desire, Harry began working on removing the many layers of clothes covering Severus’ body, feeling much like a child unwrapping his most yearned for present on Christmas morning.

“I don’t believe that this constitutes rest,” Severus murmured, trailing his lips back up to Harry’s.

“I can rest later,” Harry replied against his mouth. “I’ve waited too long for this. Besides,” he added, gasping as Severus brushed their arousals together through their clothes, “I’m sure this is the best form of medication.” Harry could feel the smirk form on Severus’ lips in response. 

“Then I shall attempt to medicate you thoroughly.”

Losing patience with small buttons, Severus removed all of Harry’s clothes with a simple spell.

“Cheat,” Harry grinned, arching up as his nipple was enveloped by Severus’ mouth.

“I never cheat,” Severus replied huskily, moving to the other nipple. “I am simply utilizing the power within me to achieve the same result faster.”

Harry shuddered, both at the sensation of Severus’ tongue around his nipple and at the deep, almost criminally sexy voice. Deciding that Severus had a point, Harry relented and removed the black robes still separating them, using wandless magic. The feel of Severus’ naked flesh pressing down the length of his body momentarily stole the breath from Harry’s lungs.

Severus raised his head to look at Harry, fiery desire evident in his eyes. “Might I suggest we continue this somewhere a little more comfortable?”

Harry’s leg was bent at an odd angle, and the edge of the couch was digging into his back. It was better than a stone wall, but still left a lot of room for improvement. He lifted his head to peck Severus’ lips with a seductive smile. “Lead the way.”

Harry soon found that making love with Severus while sober and clear-headed was an entirely different and profound experience. This time it was slow and tender, both of them drawing out each moment of pleasure to its fullest, worshipping every inch of the bodies and souls they’d missed so much. Harry kept his eyes open throughout, not wanting to miss a second of it, memorizing the varying expressions of bliss which flickered across Severus’ face as he leisurely thrust into Harry’s willing body. When they finally reached the pinnacle, Harry’s entire being was rocked with the most powerful, toe curling orgasm he’d ever experienced, made all the more beautiful when Severus joined him with a whispered, “ _Harry_.”

Gloriously sated, and more than a little sleepy, Harry lay entwined with Severus on the satin sheets, his head resting against Severus’ chest. He could hear the comfortingly strong heartbeat beneath his ear, gradually slowing after their exertions.

“Are you still in any pain?” 

Severus’ voice was tinged with concern, making Harry raise his head to smile reassuringly up at him. “I’m fine.” He paused, a hint of mischief creeping into his green eyes. “I think I need to rest with you for a while longer, though… maybe even get a second dose of medication a little later on.”

Laughing at the quirked eyebrow he received, Harry settled himself back in his previous position and an arm wrapped itself around him firmly.

“Brat.” The older man’s tone was warm and amused. “I assume that I am not your first, judging by that display of knowledge and technique.”

“No,” Harry smiled, lazily tracing a path across the sprinkling of hair surrounding Severus’ navel. “Charlie Weasley—way back when the war with Voldemort was really starting to heat up. I was struggling to cope with the pressure of expectation, and Charlie made it better… for a while, at least.” 

“And since then?”

Harry shrugged slightly, the gesture limited by his position. “After the war ended, I went a bit wild. Lots of clubbing and one-night stands—just sex, without any complications or commitment. There hasn’t been anyone serious.” He paused. “What about you? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“I have indulged in pleasures of the flesh with many willing partners over the years—a pressure release of sorts. I never felt the need or inclination to settle.” 

Harry nodded and a sleepy hush descended once more. His eyes were just beginning to droop shut when Severus’ voice roused him.

“I seem to remember the younger Mr Weasley making a remark about his brother on his last visit.”

Harry shifted to meet Severus’ gaze again, trying not to smile at the undercurrent of possessiveness in Severus’ voice. “Charlie wants more from me than I can give.” He placed a kiss on the warm, pale skin that he was resting against. “Everything’s different now.”

Severus studied him seriously, and his next words were spoken with careful deliberation. “Are you fully prepared for the consequences of this decision? It will not be easy, Harry. We will have to fight for acceptance, and most likely face a tide of disapproval—“

Harry clamped a hand over his mouth. “Then we’ll face it together. I’m not going to let you chase me away again, Severus. Besides,” he grinned, moving his hand down to splay his fingers on Severus’ firm chest, “have you ever known me to take the easy route?”

Severus smirked. “A valid point.” He lowered his head to meet Harry’s lips, rolling them over so that he was once again on top, and Harry felt his fatigue disappear with a surge of renewed desire.

“Severus?”

The unmistakable voice of Professor McGonagall effectively doused the fire.

“Severus!”

“Infernal woman,” Severus huffed, when it became clear that she wasn’t simply going to give up. Disentangling himself from Harry, he got up and threw on a robe before walking out of the room. Harry lay still, listening intently to the voices that floated through the open bedroom door.

“Yes, what is it?”

“I was just wondering how our youngest professor is doing.”

“Remarkably well, considering. I assume that knocking him senseless was not part of your plan?”

Professor McGonagall spluttered something, but Severus overrode it. “I have managed to repair the damage inflicted. If that is all, Minerva?”

“Could I see him?”

“For what reason? Are you worried I might have poisoned him and disposed of the body?”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake—“

“I admit that the thought _did_ cross my mind, but, ultimately, I decided that it was not worth my time or energy.”

Harry smothered a snort with his hand. He heard Professor McGonagall sigh exasperatedly.

“Can I see him or not, Severus?”

“No, he is asleep at present. However, if you wish, I can ask him to visit you in the morning if he is well enough.”

“Yes. Thank you.”

“Very well. Goodnight, Minerva.”

Severus re-entered the room a moment later, throwing off his robe. “It seems that the rest of the faculty is worried about your well-being.”

Harry grinned, sitting up to pull Severus back into bed and latching onto a dark nipple. “I’m in good hands.”

Growling, Severus pinned him down to the bed by his wrists. Harry offered no resistance, his cock already hardening from the predatory glint within the dark eyes locked with his own, his breath quickening.

“And I believe it’s time for more medication…”

***

Three days later, in the sunny garden at The Burrow, Harry broke the news to Ron and Hermione. He knew, of course, that Hermione would be happy that he and Severus had worked things out, but had been anxiously worrying about his best friend’s reaction. However, it didn’t turn out anything like the nightmare he’d had the previous night—in which Ron had drawn his wand, cursed him, and then cut him out of his life completely. Instead Ron, no doubt forewarned by Hermione and coached in his response, merely blew out a deep breath and nodded with an attempt at a smile.

“That’s great.”

Harry’s worried expression immediately transformed into one of immense relief and happiness. “Thanks, Ron.”

“So I can add Severus to the wedding guest list, then?” Hermione smiled, after hugging Harry to within an inch of his life.

Harry hadn’t thought that far ahead, let alone asked Severus. He’d been too busy fretting over telling Ron. It would be nice to have a plus one for a change, though. He might have to convince his partner, but he always relished a challenge. “Sure,” he grinned.

“Just do me one favour, mate,” Ron said good-naturedly, as Hermione went to find the guest list. “Keep the snogging down to a minimum in front of me.”

Harry laughed, his spirit feeling lighter than it had in days. “Deal.”

Ron slung an arm around his shoulder as they headed back inside, and sighed melodramatically. “And you were so nearly a Weasley…”

***

Harry couldn’t wipe the smile off his face for several days. His ordeal was by no means over—this was just the first step—but now he had the strength of his friends to lean on when things got tough, and that meant a great deal.

No one else knew anything yet. The staff and students couldn’t fail to notice his improved mood, of course, but were unaware of the reason, although the other professors had gathered that it concerned their resident potions master. The number of detentions which Severus was handing out to his students had dropped ten-fold in the last week.

The world would no doubt find out eventually, but for now it was nice just to enjoy each other without pressure or prejudice. The next step for Harry was telling the rest of the Weasleys. They were the only family he had left now, and their support was very important to him.

Harry pondered how best to tell them as he patrolled the school’s dark corridors on the following Saturday night, searching for students out of bed and up to mischief. Since it was now the last week of term, and all the exams were over, there was usually a rise in rule breaking as students made the most of their remaining time at Hogwarts before the holidays. So far, however, it had been a quiet night, leaving Harry alone with his thoughts and plans.

He had already made up his mind to stay at Hogwarts for the following year. Although a large part of his decision was based on his desire to be close to Severus, he had found, quite unexpectedly, that teaching suited him, plus Hogwarts had always been his home. Where he was going to spend the holidays was another matter entirely, something which he hadn’t yet discussed with Severus, and he still didn’t know whether Severus would agree to accompany him to his friends’ wedding in August.

Thinking hard about possible methods of persuasion, Harry turned another corner on the fourth floor into a long corridor. As opposed to the last, which had been flooded with moonlight from the large, mullioned windows, this one was bathed in darkness, the light from Harry’s wand tip only penetrating it a short way. The occupants of the portraits, which lined the walls on either side, stirred and grunted irritably as he passed. 

Harry had just reached a portrait of a rather ugly witch, in a gown with far too many frills, when he was pulled sharply backwards into a deep alcove, which was partially concealed by a heavy tapestry.

“Constant vigilance, Professor. Must I remind you again?” 

Harry’s fingers relaxed around his wand as the familiar, deep voice whispered in his ear and stirred the hairs on his neck.

“Now I have you.”

“Yes, you do,” Harry replied softly, grinning as he relaxed back against a firm chest. “The question is, what are you going to do with me, Professor?”

A pair of arms snaked around his waist securely, holding him in place as his neck was gently nipped. “I can think of several equally enticing possibilities.”

Harry shivered with delight and anticipation as the hands holding him wandered lower. Emitting a quiet moan, he turned his head to capture Severus’ lips in a heated kiss and, without warning, Severus turned him around and switched their positions so that Harry’s back was against the panelled wood.

The next moment, Severus had sunk to his knees and freed Harry’s already straining erection. Harry bit his lip to silence a cry when he was abruptly enveloped in a deliciously warm and talented mouth, his fingers winding their way into Severus’ silky black hair. As Severus got into his stride, Harry allowed his head to drop back against the wall with a soft thump and closed his eyes. His increasingly ragged breathing sounded overly loud in the hushed darkness.

Harry inhaled sharply as Severus circled his entrance and inserted a finger, then two, creating a mounting pleasure from both sides as his tongue swirled around the head of Harry’s aching cock. Harry pushed back against the intrusion, desperate for more, and Severus complied, thrusting his fingers inside and twisting them to brush that special spot.

“God, Severus… yes. Ah!”

Severus reached up with his free hand and pressed his finger to Harry’s parted lips, hushing him without words, then brushed his thumb across them gently. Harry latched onto it to stifle another moan, his hips thrusting forwards of their own accord as the knot of tension is his groin continued to tighten. Distantly, Harry’s brain registered footsteps approaching but then Severus deep throated him and nothing else mattered. The whole school could have blown up at that moment and he wouldn’t have noticed. With a strangled cry, he emptied himself down Severus’ throat in pulsing waves of ecstasy.

“Hello? Is someone there?”

Harry froze at the sound of Professor McGonagall’s voice close by, the pleasure fading from his boneless, sated body. He could see a soft glow of light beyond the tapestry, and knew it was only a matter of seconds before she would discover their hideout. Severus, however, seemed completely unconcerned, licking the remnants of Harry’s juices from his softening cock with relish before getting to his feet. To Harry’s astonishment, he merely straightened his robes and stepped out into the corridor. Harry heard a small squeak of surprise at his sudden appearance.

“Severus! What are you doing up here at this time of night?”

“Obviously, I was investigating a suspicious noise.”

Harry snorted inwardly. It was Severus who had been _causing_ the suspicious noise. Harry had to admire the man’s ability to appear calm and collected, though, when he was no doubt hiding a raging erection beneath his robes.

“Really?” Professor McGonagall’s tone told Harry that she wasn’t remotely convinced. “And have you found anything?”

“No, I have not,” Severus replied smoothly. “Of course, it could have been one of the ghosts.”

“Hmm. I should warn Harry to be on the look-out just in case… but no doubt you’re going to see him first, Severus.” Harry resisted the urge to laugh. It appeared that there was no fooling his old Head of House. “So I’ll bid you both goodnight.”

The sound of swift footsteps signalled her departure, and Harry was willing to bet that Severus was scowling after her. A moment later he reappeared, scowl still firmly in place.

“Minerva is proving worthy of her predecessor, it seems.”

Harry chuckled. “At least she doesn’t seem to mind.” He grabbed a handful of Severus’ robes to pull him closer. “Now, where were we?”

Severus smirked. “I believe we were finished, if only barely.”

“No, _you_ were finished,” Harry corrected, grinning cheekily as he sank onto his knees. “I haven’t even started yet.”

“Do you really think that’s—“ 

Harry very effectively cut Severus’ protest short by hungrily devouring his impressively erect cock. He smiled around the hard, hot flesh as he heard a tiny groan, liking nothing more than making Severus lose control, if only for a brief moment. He ran his tongue up the shaft before swiping it across the head and then drawing the entire length into his mouth, employing a technique he’d learnt from a guy he had met in Australia to stimulate the most sensitive areas with his tongue while relaxing his throat to the intrusion.

Severus certainly seemed to find it agreeable, coming down Harry’s throat only a few minutes later with a long, drawn out release of breath, his fingers digging into Harry’s scalp.

“You were saying?” Harry asked innocently, as he licked his lips and looked up at Severus’ shadowed face. The next moment he was hauled to his feet.

“Brat,” Severus murmured, pecking his lips. He paused to straighten his robes, and then continued, “Seeing as your vigilance is obviously lacking, I will accompany you for the rest of the evening’s patrol.”

“To protect me from those suspicious noises?” Harry grinned. 

Severus’ eyes gleamed. “Or merely to create new ones.”

Laughing, Harry stepped back out into the corridor. The portraits grumbled at the continued disturbance, but were silenced by a glare as Severus followed.

“In that case,” Harry remarked casually, as they began to walk, “maybe we could patrol past your desk.” 

Severus glanced sideways at him, his eyebrows raised. “Dare I ask how long you’ve harboured that particular fantasy?”

“Not long,” Harry chuckled. “It just occurred to me.”

“Indeed? I am discovering hidden depths this evening.”

“So, can we?”

“I believe that my desk has often harboured miscreants in the past. We should therefore cover the area fully.”

“Brilliant,” Harry grinned.

 

Lying sprawled across said desk a little later with Severus draped over him, both of their naked bodies flushed and sweaty, Harry decided that he couldn’t leave it any longer.

“Ron and Hermione have invited you to their wedding.” Only getting a soft grunt in response, Harry pressed on. “Will you come with me?”

Severus lifted his head, a curtain of black hair falling around his face to frame it. “I believe I just did.”

Harry elbowed him, grinning. “To the wedding, Severus.” His grin faded as Severus appeared to consider the question carefully.

“Very well.”

Harry couldn’t stop his face from lighting up. “You will?”

“Indeed. However, the rest of the Weasleys will have to be told beforehand. I do not wish to cause a scene.”

Nodding in agreement, Harry said, “I can tell them on my birthday. I know they’re planning some kind of big surprise party at The Burrow.”

“I believe the point of a surprise party is to be unaware of it until the proper time.”

Harry smiled, idly running his fingers down the ridges of Severus’ spine. “Ron never could keep a secret.” He paused and then, attempting to keep his tone casual but not quite meeting the dark eyes above, asked, “Will you be around in July?”

“If, by around, you’re referring to Hogwarts, then no. I generally spend the holidays at a small cottage I own near the coast.” Harry’s heart sank, but quickly soared at Severus’ next words. “Of course, you are most welcome to join me.”

“I’d love to.”

***

“You’ve got the rings, haven’t you?” Ron asked, for the fourth time in as many minutes, as he stood nervously awaiting the arrival of his bride to be.

“Yes,” Harry laughed, patting his back soothingly, “I’ve got the rings, Ron. Stop worrying, okay? Everything’s going to be perfect.”

It was certainly a perfect August afternoon, the sun shining down from a cloudless azure sky upon the garden of The Burrow, where the guests were steadily gathering on rows of white seats surrounded by flowers. The minister stood waiting at the front under a floral arch, and there was a large marquee erected nearby to host the reception. 

The scene reminded Harry forcefully of another wedding on a similar summer’s day only a few years before, but the undercurrent of emotion was very different this time. There was no longer the threat of war and death, no longer a mission that he had to undertake, or a prophecy on his shoulders. Today he was free to simply enjoy the celebration with all those he loved.

A moaned protest from Ron broke into his thoughts at that moment, for Mrs Weasley had bustled over with a comb and was fussing over his hair. She was dressed in a colourful floral outfit and matching hat, and almost blended in with the flowers behind her.

“Mum, get off! It’s fine!”

“ _Fine_ won’t do for your wedding, Ronald.”

Harry unconsciously tried to flatten his own hair, but Mrs Weasley merely smiled affectionately at him.

“Oh, Harry, you look so dashing. That suit really brings out the colour of your eyes.”

Harry smiled, his eyes flicking over to the tall figure standing with Professor McGonagall near the house. Mrs Weasley wasn’t the only one who approved of Harry’s attire—he’d had to redress twice that morning after Severus persisted in helping him back out of his suit and into bed. It was a wonder the whole thing wasn’t ruined.

“Oh, blimey,” Ron croaked, staring past Harry towards the far end of the makeshift aisle. “She’s here.”

With a small shriek, Mrs Weasley hurried off, and a hush settled as the guests took their seats and the first strains of music began. Harry, along with everyone else, turned to see the bride’s entrance.

Hermione looked radiant on her father’s arm in an ivory gown. The intricate bodice accentuated her figure, flowing out at the waist in a soft arc and extending outwards at the back to form a modest train. Ginny and Luna followed, in identical lavender gowns, their faces shining with pride and happiness.

The ceremony itself was just as beautiful. Harry stood proudly beside the two friends he treasured above all others, overjoyed and honoured to witness the beginning of their new life together after such a long and rough road. As the vows were exchanged, he couldn’t help stealing a glance back at Severus, who was sitting rigidly in the third row behind a mass of redheads and glaring at anyone who attempted to talk to him. Harry had to hide a grin at the wide berth the other guests were affording him, many of them his ex-students.

Harry had never really considered getting married himself but, now he’d found the right man, it was definitely a possibility… and he was absolutely sure that Severus _was_ the right man. Perhaps sensing his gaze, Severus looked up, and Harry felt the familiar swooping sensation in his stomach as their eyes locked, as if to emphasize the point.

As planned, Harry had told the rest of his family at his birthday celebration—after he’d spent most of the day in bed with Severus—by far his best birthday present ever. They’d reacted rather well on the whole, allaying his fears. 

George had settled for a good-natured, “Bloody hell,” proceeding to slap Harry on the back, Percy had merely nodded with an awkward half-smile, Bill had shook his hand with a broad grin, and Mr Weasley, while stunned at first, had offered his own hearty congratulations. Ginny had hugged him tightly, whispering how happy she was that he’d found someone, and Mrs Weasley, while speechless for a moment, simply said, “Well, as long as you’re happy dear.” 

Only Charlie had seemed a little quiet. He congratulated Harry along with everyone else, but his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. Harry had known that it might take a little more time for him to accept, but it had still caused a painful stab of guilt. Today, however, Charlie seemed to be back to his old self and the last of Harry’s worry had dissipated. 

The ceremony eventually concluded, to applause and more than a few tears, but Harry’s duties as best man continued and he only caught a few brief moments with Severus in-between. Knowing that he was there, supporting him, was enough, although he suspected that he might have to pay dearly for subjecting Severus to so many Weasleys at once—especially Ron’s Aunt Muriel, who seemed to have taken a shine to him, much to Harry’s amusement and Severus’ chagrin. 

Evening slowly descended and, the speeches and toasts done, the dance floor began to fill around the newly married couple. Harry sat alone at the top table watching Severus across the room, who sat watching _him_ with the hint of a smirk. 

Severus had warned Harry to be discreet, with so many reporters present, but, sitting there, so close, yet so far apart, Harry decided to hell with it. If he was going to come out to the world, he was going to do it surrounded by the people he loved, on one of the happiest days of his life. 

Severus, along with many others, eyed him curiously as he got to his feet, some even a little hopefully, but Harry only had eyes for one man and he slowly approached him across the dance floor. By the time he reached him, many more eyes had swivelled towards them. Harry held out his hand and Severus grasped it firmly, rising fluidly from his chair. 

“Might I ask what you are doing?” Severus murmured, as they took to the dance floor and Harry pressed his body closer. 

“I’m dancing with the man I love. Any objections?”

A small smile played around the edges of Severus’ mouth at the impromptu declaration. “None whatsoever.”

“Good,” Harry smiled, letting Severus take the lead as the music changed, while Hermione beamed at the two of them nearby, “because I wasn’t planning on leaving your arms for the foreseeable future.”

Severus expertly spun him around and then dipped him backwards, leaning over him seductively. “I wasn’t planning on letting you go.”

“Ever?” Harry grinned breathlessly.

“Never,” Severus replied and, ignoring the flashes from the various cameras around them, he captured Harry’s lips to seal their very own vow and the promise of a bright new future.

 

The End.


End file.
